


"You were so brave, and so very, very young...."

by Eigon



Category: The Saint (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eigon/pseuds/Eigon
Summary: The original Saint stories had the Saint having adventures in the 1930s, as an adult – but that didn't quite work for the 1960s TV series.  The writers of the series dealt with this problem early on – in the 4th episode of the 1st season, in fact, where they hint at an origin story for the Saint in Paris during the Second World War, when he would have been a young teenager according to the updated timeline.  But what was he doing in Paris (apart from helping the Resistance, that is)?However, in a later episode he talks about what London was like during the War, and it sounds like he's speaking from personal experience.  So how did he get from Paris to London in the middle of the War?This is my attempt to flesh out the hints in The Covetous Headsman and The Miracle Tea Party.





	"You were so brave, and so very, very young...."

Nobody noticed the boy enter the bookshop on the Left Bank. He was a regular visitor, and doubtless very studious. He usually left with at least one book in his satchel.   
Simon waited until the other browser in the shop had left. "Is there anything today?"  
Antoine Louvois, the bookseller, disappeared into the back of the shop, and returned with two parcels wrapped in newspaper and tied up with string. "One for the Tabac, one for the cafe," he said. "Remember to make sure you are not seen passing them over."  
Simon grinned. "I'm always careful," he said.  
It was the latest issue of the underground newspaper that Antoine distributed, right under the noses of the Germans. Simon was one of his most reliable distributors.   
"I wish we could do more," Simon said.  
"Patience," Antoine said. "Maybe soon we can fight with more than words."

Madame Templar was already home by the time he got back to the flat. "You're late," she said mildly.   
He kissed her cheek affectionately. "I stopped by the bookshop, maman."  
"I worry about you, you know – if the Nazis were to check your papers. Templar is not a French surname, and there would be questions."  
"About father – I know."  
Simon's father had discreetly disappeared from Paris shortly before the Nazis arrived. Simon was not sure where he was, but suspected that he was doing something important and dangerous for the Allies. His mother was Parisian, so she had believed that they would be safer if they remained in Paris. Now that the Occupation was a reality, she no longer seemed so certain. So Simon was not about to tell her that he was running messages, and delivering underground newspapers, for the Resistance under the noses of les Boches.  
And something big was planned soon. Antoine had not said anything directly, but Simon could tell that the men who met in the cellar of the bookshop were more excited than usual. There were murmurs about the Free French....

When he went to visit Antoine's bookshop again, there were messages for him to deliver all along the Left Bank. "It's something important, isn't it?" Simon said.  
"It's something secret. I should not tell you, for your own safety, hein? Just make sure that these are delivered."  
"It's the Free French, isn't it? I heard Henri. What are they doing?"  
"Henri talks too much," Antoine said.  
A thought struck Simon. "Are they dropping supplies? They are, aren't they? Can't I come and help?"  
"Ah, Simon – your mother would never forgive me." Antoine sighed. "You are right, of course – there will be a Drop. We have been putting together lights to guide the plane to the right spot, run from car batteries. And we have plenty of people to help when the Drop is made." He looked stern. "This time you will stay home. Maybe next time you can come with us."  
Simon had never disobeyed an order from Antoine.  
So he went to the Tabac, and the cafe near Notre Dame, and the old man sitting on the bench by the Seine, and delivered all the messages that Antoine had given him, and then he went home, hugging to himself the thought that next time, he would go with them.

He was back at the bookshop the following afternoon, eager to find out what the result of the previous night's action had been. The 'Closed' sign was turned round, but when he knocked, Antoine let him in.  
"You must not come here again," Antoine said, as soon as he had bolted the door again.   
"But – why?"  
"We have been betrayed! There is no Resistance in this part of Paris any more."  
"What do you mean, no Resistance? What happened?"  
"Thirty brave men were there, when the plane came over - but the Nazis were there also. We went out to collect the equipment from the Drop, and the woods were full of Stormtroopers. Only three of us got away. Listen to me, Simon – twenty seven men are dead. This is too dangerous for you any more."

When he got home, his mother was packing. She smiled brightly when she saw him. "Is it not good? We have been invited to Cousin Armand's wedding, in Toulouse! Make sure to pack your good suit."  
This was the first Simon had heard of a cousin in Toulouse. "What's really going on, maman?" he asked.  
Her smile disappeared. She looked afraid. "You will not have seen the newspapers." She handed him the flimsy sheets. "Look now."  
It was all there – that the Germans had discovered a Resistance cell and wiped it out. Further arrests were expected soon. The operation was described as a great success.   
"I'm not stupid, Simon. I know you've been mixed up with them. Well, no longer. It's time for us to leave Paris, maybe even join your father."  
Simon made sure to pack his good suit.

It was a long train journey, and Toulouse seemed bright with Mediterranean sunshine and very far from the War – but the swastikas were still there, when you looked for them.  
From Toulouse, they continued south, towards the Pyrenees, and the dangerous route across them to Spain. Simon wasn't sure how she knew, but Madame Templar seemed to be able to contact the local Maquis with surprising ease. He had never seen his mother looking anything less than elegant, but now she changed almost overnight into a ruthlessly practical woman in slacks and walking shoes, camping out in deserted mountain huts and hiking the mountain paths.   
Then they were in Spain. There were still fascists, but at least they were not Nazis, and at least they were officially neutral. It was not a good idea to linger, though. Madame Templar was so obviously French, even in slacks and walking shoes.  
The route into neutral Portugal was less arduous than the mountain paths of the Pyrenees – and Portugal really was neutral, unlike Spain where Franco's sympathies were on the side of the Axis powers. Suddenly they were in a country that had no blackouts, and no soldiers on the streets. There were even commercial airliners still flying from Lisbon airport.  
And so they came to London. The worst of the Blitz was over, but London seemed to be one bomb site after another. Simon noticed the queues, most of all; women wearing headscarfs, with shopping baskets, queuing for bread, people queuing at bus stops, queues to get into the theatres and cinemas.  
He did not have much opportunity to get used to London. As soon as his mother was settled, he was sent to a small public school somewhere in the Home Counties to complete his education. It was very different from the French lycee he had attended in Paris. The boys played cricket and rugger, and dreamed of becoming Spitfire pilots. They were excited by the glory of war, even when the names of old boys who had been killed in combat were read out in chapel.   
Simon wanted to fight Nazis too, but he considered himself to have a more realistic perspective. He'd actually lived through the Nazi Occupation of Paris, after all, and done his part in the Resistance. It had given him a taste for adventure, but not necessarily as part of the armed forces. He was not yet The Saint, but he was perhaps more than halfway to being the debonair adventurer that he would become after the War.


End file.
